


Seeking the Threshold

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Category: The Chronicles of Riddick (2004), The Chronicles of Riddick Series
Genre: Chocolate Box Exchange, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Slash, Tension, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: A conversation, and an offer, between the new Lord Marshal and his First Among Commanders.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



Tried to do a good deed, and look where it got me. A ruthless killer, trapped in a gilded cage by a people who glorified death but didn't even let themselves enjoy it. Their last Lord Marshal took the last person I cared for away from me — finishing off what he started when he bought into some windbag Elemental's self-fulfilling prophecy — and now his followers expected me to sit on his throne and rejoice that he severed my last tie to life outside their UnderVerse.

To let myself be tamed. To poison my own animal side until my blood ran as cold as their own, and bend my neck for the Necromonger crown.

Yeah, I didn't think so. I didn't know who the Commanders thought they were tempting with all the sharp-toothed flesh they kept sending to my bed, fresh purification marks on their throats and nothing but emptiness in their cries, but it certainly wasn't Richard B. Riddick. If there was one thing I'd learned in thirty years of existence, always one step ahead of the jaws that bite and the claws that catch, it was how _not_ to dull my own edge.

The only one of those snake-women with any fire left in her blood was the one who was actually wearing scales the day I met her, and _she_ wasn't exactly on offer. Only way she'd ever deign to slip between my sheets was if she thought it would put her or her husband on the throne, and Dame Vaako was far too sharp to make that blunder. Saw more than any ten men around her. Wasn't just her _appearance_ I meant when I called her beautiful.

The husband, though: Lord Vaako. First Among Commanders. Now _that_ one had possibility. Not quite as pretty, more faith than passion, but the fact that he had any at all set him intriguingly apart from his fellows. He _wanted_ things, even when he was fresh from the purifiers. Made me wonder what he'd be like, stranded away from the Necro priests' not-so-gentle treatment for a while.

Stalking me, though? That'd do for a start. He was quiet, even in all that armor — but no matter how silent he moved, I could still feel his eyes on the back of my neck.

I swiped a hand casually over the map table, watching the silver shape of a world swell upward like some kind of malignant growth, spin leisurely through the air, then sink back into oblivion. There was a gap in the Basilica's charts about thirty years back, a corruption in the record where Furya should be, but I figured it should be possible to figure a rough route if I could find the edges of that gap and connect them together. It was a tedious job, though; a much more boring stalk than the one my nominal second-in-command seemed intent on provoking.

Not a hard choice to make, in the end; I'm not exactly known for my self-control.

A glance over my shoulder showed him framed in the doorway, the gunmetal grey of the armor he never seemed to take off blending in with the Basilica's steel and shadows décor. The dark shock of his hair stood out against his ghost-pale skin — and those burning eyes, studying my every move.

"Vaako." The word was as much warning as it was invitation; he accepted it with a shallow incline of his head, the least he could get away with and still show respect. 

"Lord Marshal."

Another swipe of my hand shut the map table down, putting a pin in my search. Vaako's eyes flicked to the table, then back to my face, a lack of questions there that told me yeah, he knew exactly what I was looking for. Hadn't offered to help — but hadn't hindered me, either. Giving me enough rope to hang myself, maybe, or waiting for the most advantageous position to suggest some kind of trade.

My money was on the latter. All kinds of positions I could think of that might induce even the most wary of men to talk.

He didn't back up as I approached, a tiny smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. The expression didn't shift, even when I stopped within arm's reach — and he knew _exactly_ how many knives I'd had worked into my own customized armor.

"Something I can do for you, Commander?" I asked, letting a hint of challenge show in response to the smirk.

"Not unless you have a sudden desire to inspect the new converts this morning, or take up the tenets of the faith yourself," he replied lightly, still eyeing me with cool amusement.

"Not even if your god walked up and held out his hand," I snorted, then gave him a toothy grin of my own. "Oh, wait."

"Funny," Vaako replied, his smile slipping. "He never pretended to be a god; no more than you are. Just the messenger, meant to lead us to the Threshold."

"And if I ain't doing that, what use am I, is that what you're saying?" I arched an eyebrow at him. I had no doubt that was the excuse behind the assassination attempts that occasionally interrupted my evenings, though Vaako didn't strike me as the type to make his move from the shadows.

"The Fleet _does_ grow restless," he replied mildly, dragging his gaze down the length of me with an arched eyebrow of his own. "Something ... I should think the Lord Marshal would understand."

I could feel my body waking up under that look; a surge of energy stirring blood gone sluggish from too much civilization despite my best efforts.

"Now you're speaking my language," I said, voice a low rumble. Intriguing; that was definitely the word for this Necromonger. "Would the First Among Commanders care for a spar, then?"

"You'd trust me with a knife at your throat?" Vaako answered lightly, clasping his arms casually behind his back as if to ward off temptation.

Cute. I dropped my hand to my waist where a match to the dagger I'd buried in Lord Marshal Zhylaw's skull was sheathed at my hip, then slid it free with a slow smirk and offered it to him on my outstretched palm. A half-gram heavy on the back end, like its predecessor, but a more than adequate weapon. "I trust that if you manage to get it anywhere near my _throat_ , I deserve what's coming to me."

His eyes flashed at the opportunity; the risk and reward, however it fell out, too much to resist. He held out an eager hand — only to frown in disapproval when I pulled back a half-step.

"Just one condition," I tsk'ed at him, a sudden thought occurring to me. "Your wife stands on the sidelines the whole time, where I can see her."

"You trust her that little?" He feigned disappointment.

"Or maybe I like the look of her that much," I deflected with a leer. He was right, of course; though I knew better than to confirm it. Fucking politics. At least it would make my ultimate victory all the sweeter. "C'mon, Vaako. You know you want to teach me a lesson."

Tension snapped between us, more life in the air in that moment than I'd smelled since Kyra's death. "I think," Vaako replied, reaching for the knife again, "that you've got yourself a deal."

Hook, line, and sinker. Whichever way this fell out, advantage _me_. His former boss had had a saying: convert now, or fall forever. Let Vaako think he could bring me to the former; in the meantime, I'd teach him how to enjoy the latter. Funny how I kept falling in with self-professed holy men.

Furya had waited thirty years, it could wait a little longer.

I drew another knife and followed him out of the room, grinning as he murmured a prayer under his breath. Could be fun to take that catechism of theirs literally; I wondered what his wife would think to see it.

 _'Til UnderVerse, Come_....

Maybe there _were_ some upsides to this Lord Marshal gig, after all.


End file.
